putting down roots in Maine

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With our usual exuberance of planning and ideas, we again find ourselves scrambling to get everything done this summer while still fitting in some mellow relaxation time.

I’ve had little time or inclination for blogging,

but things are starting to slow down a bit. I think.

In the meantime, this post is a bit of a bookmark–a place-holding glimpse into a part of what we’ve been doing.

Our winter wood is in. The gardens are bursting with more than we can eat and promise of much more.

We have been drying herbs, digging potatoes, freezing beans, corn, and squash, and planting fall vegetables.

My new herb drying rack. I think it’s designed for marijuana growers.

I have been washing fleeces, obsessively searching for antique flax processing tools, and had a lovely visit with a local farmer and spinner on Maine’s Open Farm Day. I brought home two beautiful fleeces, a bag of interesting wool from a Soay sheep, and some Woad seeds for planting a dye garden next year.

The small sheep is a Soay and the large curly one is a Leicester Longwool

The Soay’s wool is pulled off in clumps rather than sheared.

The glossy locks of the Leicester Longwool.

I finally made it to the the Windjammer parade on Rockland’s breakwater this year.

In the 1800s, sailboats owned this coast–whalers, traders, fishing schooners. Maine was a sailing hub–sending its boats and captains to every ocean and building some of the fastest clipper ships in the world.

Now the windjammers primarily provide entertainment for tourists, but it gives me an ache to watch them.

Looking down from the lighthouse over the breakwater to shore.

If I had a bucket list–which I don’t–it would include time-travel back to sailing ship days.

Since that will never happen–I really enjoyed the parade.

Back home, in our yard, the aggressive male bluebird continues to harass us while his mate sits on her birdbox nest looking as if she wants someone to rescue her.

A noisy nest in the apple tree by the side porch turned out to have baby waxwings.

Our gardens are full of insects and the hive has the summer smell of honey and brood.

The ant is moving towards this waspish creature on the tansy …

as the ant approaches, the waspish creature lifts his leg and then brings it down. I’m not sure what happened to the ant.

I had thought that the hive might be ready for honey harvest this week, but it needs a few more weeks.

These past weeks we’ve celebrated an anniversary, a birthday, and have had several visitors, including blog friend, Eliza, at Eliza Waters.

She patiently endured a (very complete) tour of our little property, down to and including the compost bin, and we fit in a short hike. I neglected to take any pictures, but she kindly brought us this begonia,

which for now adorns the table on the porch where I rock, flick wool, and look at the view.